


The Mirror Is The Worst Judge Of True Beauty

by IKnowWhoYouAre_Damianos



Series: Kick That Block To The Curb [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: A tiny bit dealing with trauma, Fluff, Funfair au, M/M, Teenagers, but all in all it's just sweet, hall of mirrors, mentions of scars, strangers to friends to maybe more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29286906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IKnowWhoYouAre_Damianos/pseuds/IKnowWhoYouAre_Damianos
Summary: Andrew is working the booth for the Hall of Mirrors. Life passes by as he counts the endless days until the end of high school. Nothing is waiting for him out there. Maybe China-Doll-Face will change that.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: Kick That Block To The Curb [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150799
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68





	The Mirror Is The Worst Judge Of True Beauty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alex_wh0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_wh0/gifts).



> The title is a quote by Sophia Nam.
> 
> So I started this series to end the damn writer's block. I asked for prompts on Twitter, and this was the first one I got from [Alex_wh0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_wh0/pseuds/alex_wh0)
> 
> by @kaiyoomi
> 
> 'i get lost in the hall of mirrors at the fair and I'm freaking out and ur the poor worker who has to come in and get me out but it's your first day on the job and you get lost trying to find me but then you do and we hold hands and u tell bad jokes as we try to find our way out'
> 
> I tried my best :-D
> 
> Thanks to [Nette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notaboutstarlight/pseuds/notaboutstarlight) for the beta and an inspo for the next drabble.
> 
> If you also want to leave me a prompt, send me a DM on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_morios) or tumble: iknowwhoyouaredamianos.

“Five dollars it is,” Andrew says for the nth time that day. The goth guy standing at the booth pushes five bucks over the counter through the little cut-out in the plexiglass which separates Andrew from the bustle like a bubble.

Working at the fair sucks but it doesn’t pay all too bad and he can listen to music over the little boombox he set up in the corner. 

The jar of money in his bedroom is motivation enough to keep showing up every afternoon. Only a couple hundred bucks more and he can get a car for Aaron and himself. Just like the cool kids. Well, maybe a run-down Honda Prius isn’t the definition of a fancy car, but at least they can skip the bus to school for the rest of their boring high school life. Before Aaron will leave for college, becoming a surgeon. Before Andrew will be alone again, as alone as he was in foster care. 

No. There is Bee now. There are Renee and Kevin and a whole bunch of people he won’t get rid of. Even Aaron will stay in touch. If Andrew lets him. He should. He will. Maybe they can even go to college together.

Andrew pushes the button for the door, watching Goth Guy begin his zombie walk through the hall of mirrors. It’s a stupid attraction. Who pays five dollars to pass by dozens of mirrors? If Andrew wants to see multiple versions of himself, he looks at Aaron.

The “No Smoking” sign loses its battle when Andrew pulls out a cigarette and a lighter, and takes a deep drag. Bee knows. Of course, she does. Every mother knows some of their kids’ secrets. She’s the first one though he doesn’t have to hide anything from. She doesn’t like that he smokes. Who would? Andrew knows that Bee is special — he feels it in every fiber — so he cut down on it. Only two cigarettes a day. That’s their deal. He won’t break it.

Maybe this is it for him. A boy with no goals. Working a fair booth, smoking two cigarettes a day. 

The sunset is blazing, raging, the sky spilling a bazillion shades of orange and red over the merry-go-rounds and booths, a few stray rays getting caught in the sickeningly sweet wafts of steam rising from the cotton-candy-machine.

Other people would take a picture. Andrew’s eidetic memory saves him the effort. 

“Ahem.”

Andrew drags his eyes back over to the plexiglass, scrutinizing the work of art in front of it. The sun hits the boy just right from behind, setting his crown of auburn hair aflame, silky strands like tongues of fire burning everything in their way. Andrew has seen dozens of shades of blue, but none has ever looked like the warm ice blue of the set of eyes staring back at him. 

Everything about that guy is contradictory in all the best ways. His body is lean yet muscular. His china doll face should be plastered over the front page of every magazine, despite or all the more because of each scar that only adds to its beauty. 

Andrew slowly lowers his cigarette, pushing the stub into the can of his lukewarm soda to hear it drown with a sizzle.

“Five dollars it is,” Andrew drawls. Smooth, broken-record-Andrew. 

“Sure,” the boy mumbles, digging up a crumpled five-dollar note from his jacket pocket. 

Andrew takes the bill and indulges way too long in unfolding the piece of paper. “Have fun,” Andrew deadpans, pushing the button for the doors. 

“Nice pin.” The guy juts his chin towards the unicorn pride pin on Andrew's chest. A gift from Renee.

Andrew’s eyes scan the redhead’s clothes for a hint, but nothing about him tells that he’s gay or on the queer spectrum in general. What a loss.

“Thanks. A present,” Andrew tacks on, staring at the boy until he averts his eyes and walks over to the doors and disappears into the  _ hell _ of mirrors.

Confident. Andrew could never face his clutch of scars in a bunch of mirrors, and those are just covering his arms and not almost every inch of his face.

With China Doll Face out of sight, Andrew goes back to watching the sun dip under the horizon, dragging the evening over the sky like a big, blue blanket. 

Most people gather around the bumper car ride or the Ferris wheel, leaving Andrew some time to just exist. Inhale, exhale, repeat. 

Half an hour without new customers later, Andrew recognizes that Beauty Face hasn’t found his way out, yet. 

David installed cameras for cases when people don’t find the exit. Andrew zaps around until he spots the boy, cowering down, hands tangled in his hair, tugging on the wayward strands.

A breakdown. Great. Not so confident then.

Andrew started the job three months ago, but he’s never walked through the hall. He didn’t have to until now. 

He grabs the little “Closed” sign, locks his booth, and makes his way over to the entrance. He doesn’t have an idea how he gets to the exit. Maybe heading inside without a map or something like that wasn’t the best idea, but in for a penny in for a pound. Can’t be too difficult.

A few minutes in, he finally finds China-Doll-Face still hunched over in a corner. His breathing consists more of puffs than breaths. Andrew knows this kind of breathing all too well. 

“Hey, I’m Andrew,” Andrew says and slides down next to the boy, staring into the mirror across from them, watching the collision of fair and tanned skin. When the redhead doesn’t respond, Andrew starts what he likes most whenever this happens. He rambles on. “You’re wasting the most pathetic five-dollar bill I’ve ever seen.” He can’t stop the snort that escapes his throat. “Mirrors suck. Bee always says that we don’t have to look into them if we don’t feel like it, especially not when they make you feel bad. We don’t have to prove anything to ourselves.” 

The boy lets out a small huff, his heaving chest beginning to calm down. 

“What’s your name?” 

_ Simple questions can help you ground yourself. _

„Neil,” the boy grits out, voice ragged. 

“Okay, Neil. I’ll touch your neck, yes or no?”

“No.”

“Okay, that’s okay. What do you need?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t really look like it,” Andrew murmurs, watching Neil’s brows drawing together.

“I just— I thought walking through this, he— I thought I could see a face that belongs to me. I was wrong,” Neil whispers, resting his forehead on his right knee. “I’ll always look like him. His marks will always be there.”

Andrew understands. Maybe not the specifics but he gets the general idea of being grossed out by your own reflection. 

“All I see is a nice face,” Andrew says and shrugs. 

_ It’s okay to want something. It’s okay to have feelings. It’s okay to be open about them. _

Neil snorts, finally lifting his head and turning towards Andrew. God, if he could choose his cause of death, he would choose to drown in the boy’s arctic ocean eyes.

“It’s true,” Andrew says, emphasizing his statement with a nod.

“Why do you care?” Neil asks, his nose scrunching up, creating a whole new constellation of freckles that pepper his face.

“Somebody has to,” Andrew declares and gets up, extending his hand. “Let’s get out of here. Bee always says everything gets better with cotton candy. I’ll treat you.”

Neil seems to consider the offer before he meets Andrew’s hand with his and lets himself get pulled up. “I don’t even like cotton candy. Too sweet.”

“Heathen,” Andrew mutters, dragging Neil behind him as he looks for the exit. “What do you like?”

“Huh?”

“Food. What do you like?”

“Fruits, I guess.”

“Chocolate strawberries. You’ll like them.” Andrew turns back to watch a smile slip over Neil’s face. He likes it. “You look much better when you smile.”

“Says the guy whose face seems incapable of laughing at all,” Neil says and nudges Andrew forward down a hallway that looks just like the last ten they’d walked through.

“Okay. Tell me a joke. If you can make me laugh, I’ll treat you to chocolate fruits  _ and _ the Ferris wheel. If you lose, you’ll treat me to cotton candy and the bumper car ride.” Andrew stops in his tracks and turns around, his gay heart almost coming to a halt at the sudden closeness between them. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Neil says a bit too confidently to Andrew’s liking. 

When they finally reach the exit, Andrew realizes that Neil hasn’t dropped his hand in all the time they spent finding the way out. He likes that, too. He likes a lot about Neil.

“Last chance,” Andrew says when they stop by the booth where David is already covering Andrew’s shift. As if this bet isn’t already settled.

“But you basically laughed at the cake joke,” Neil whines, tugging on Andrew’s hand before he lets go of it. Andrew already misses the warmth.

“That was barely a smile,” Andrew scoffs, hating how quickly Minyards blush.

“Got lost, Minyard?” David’s gruff voice resonates from the booth, but Andrew knows he’s all tough on the outside, soft on the inside.

“You should get a map for this thing.”

David rubs his hands over his face, mumbling something about kids and young love and whatever else Andrew doesn’t want to hear. 

“Okay, I’ve got one more. What do bees do if they need a ride?”

Neil’s grin is mischievous. A bee joke. Fuck.

“Don’t know.”

“They wait at the buzz stop,” Neil answers and throws his head back in the most beautiful laugh Andrew’s ever seen. How could he resist? 

Andrew laughs and drags Neil over to the Ferris wheel. 

Maybe, this isn’t it all, yet.   
  



End file.
